D is for Drunk (22 page)

Brendan insisted that all office computers use an office password and everyone be informed what it was. Aidan had argued against the policy, but Brendan won. Sofia logged in, trying to remember why she was sitting in Aidan’s chair to begin with. She’d had an idea, but Milena’s call had chased it away.

Rick Pankhurst and the drone footage. Aidan had carefully split the footage into five minute-long, carefully labelled segments. She opened the one marked rick_pankhurst_property_flyover and let it run. Rick Pankhurst’s land was completely different from the vineyards. Instead of being lush and organized, it was dry and chaotic. The border between the properties was as clear as if it had been fenced—green to brown. Unlike his neighbors, he wasn’t irrigating. That made sense, since he wasn’t growing anything.

Had he irrigated it back when he had horses? He must have had to create some kind of pasture for them to graze. According to the Internet, his wife had been dead about a year, which was plenty of time for all the grass to die back.

Something niggled at the back of her mind as the drone flew over the golden grass, passing a gnarled live oak, and skittered down a bare dirt path that looked like a game trail. The land was wild and open compared to the vineyards, and Sofia thought it was beautiful. But that wasn’t what was bothering her.

The water. Rick Pankhurst wasn’t using any water. His property looked like a natural park land. He definitely wasn’t irrigating; everything was too parched.

She got up and guiltily watered the ficus tree, then hauled it closer to the window. It was the least she could do for the poor plant—give it sunshine and water.

It all came back to water. The water company records said Pankhurst was using as much water as the Grigoryan’s and the Befort’s, but she sure didn’t see any evidence of that in the dried up plants around his house. Where was the water going?

She opened up a file marked rick_pankhurst_house_barn_flyover and studied the few shots Aidan had managed to get of the house and barn. The picture was blurry, because the drone was up so high, and she leaned so close to the screen her nose practically touched it.

Light flashed off the barn’s roof, and she paused the video to look at that image. Something was reflecting the light. She rewound and fast forwarded to find the best shot, then stared at it some more. Pankhurst’s barn roof wasn’t uniform. The north side, which faced the road, was gray and shingled. She wished she’d borrowed Aidan’s binoculars at the time and taken a closer look. But that wasn’t the interesting part anyway. The southern side of the roof, the one facing away from the road, had two kinds of surface—the gray shingles and the surface that had reflected back the light. That surface had straight lines about six inches apart running down it.

The picture reminded her of one of those science magazines she’d read as a kid, where she’d studied a giant tree with regular short branches sticking out of it and then discovered that it was a fly’s leg. There was more meaning to the picture, and she had to find it. And, like with the fly picture, once she saw it she knew she was right. The top half of the roof was covered in corrugated plastic sheets like a giant skylight.

Why would he need skylights in a barn? And what was he doing with the water? She bet both those questions had the same answer. The skylights were designed to let in maximum light, and the water was being directed to the barn, to grow something.

It was a light bulb moment. She was surprised Aidan hadn’t beaten her to it, but he’d been distracted. He’d be piqued when she told him. She suspected Pankhurst’s crop was way more lucrative than a riding stable.

Pot.

She didn’t have any proof, but it sure looked like Pankhurst might be growing marijuana in his barn. It wasn’t an uncommon crop in Malibu, and she knew a few people who had plants in their living room. She’d never considered growing it herself which, considering how she was slowly killing the office plants, seemed like a good idea. Plus, it was illegal to have even a single plant, and she bet Pankhurst was growing a lot more than that.

It was definitely a revelation, but even if she was right, so what? There was no sign that Marcel Befort had either known or cared about what his neighbor was doing. Even assuming Marcel knew that Rick was growing pot and stealing his water (which might or might not even be true), Marcel hadn’t raised a fuss about it. Narek had, and he hadn’t been killed.

But he had been arrested. Both of Pankhurst’s neighbors were out of the picture. Marcel permanently, and Narek wouldn’t be worrying about his water bill for a while either. And Pankhurst had also eliminated his romantic rival. Things were looking pretty good for Pankhurst.

It was a theory anyway, the kind of thing that made John Stark happy. She typed up her theory into a report, pasted in blurry photos from Aidan’s downloaded footage, emailed it to Brendan and Aidan, and printed out a copy. As she walked in to set it on Brendan’s desk, she was struck again by how lonely the office felt.

She called Brendan, hoping he’d pick up, but he didn’t. She left him a quick message detailing her suspicions about Pankhurst. Maybe he could use that information as leverage to help Aidan, and he should also be the one to pass it along to Stark.

In the meantime, she couldn’t sit around the office any more. She was going to get some lunch, and then she was going to find Bambi. She remembered she had one more lead to try.

CHAPTER 36

S
ofia loved being pampered. She’d gotten out of the habit of it when she left acting, because it seemed fake, but she’d decided lately that there was nothing wrong with spoiling herself a little, especially in the interest of advancing a case.

The woman rubbing lavender-scented lotion into her hands smiled. “Doesn’t that smell wonderful?”

Sofia drew in a long breath and felt herself relaxing. “It sure does!”

“Lavender has been used as to promote relaxation for hundreds of years.” The woman, who’d introduced herself as Veda, must really love lavender, because her hair was exactly that shade of purple. It stuck out in crazy directions and made Sofia think of an anime character. “The old knowledge can get so buried these days, but it’s what we need to help us with our stressful lives.”

Sofia glanced around at the room—lavender walls with silver swirls, a giant bowl of healing amethyst crystals by the front desk, and pink pedicure chairs. It looked like the kind of girlie princess room she’d wanted when she was seven. Her mother had told her it was a phase and they weren’t remodeling the whole house. Turns out she was right, but Sofia still liked this room immensely. It smelled of lavender and chocolate.

“I know you say you don’t have time for a pedicure and foot massage,” said Veda. “So I’ll work on massaging your hands, taking care of your cuticles, and then we can choose your nail polish.”

Veda increased the pressure on the meaty part of Sofia’s thumb, and Sofia felt her whole arm relax. It was like witchcraft. She could see why Bambi came here.

She’d meant to ask questions, but decided to wait until after the massage. That wasn’t being selfish, that was called ‘building a rapport.’

Once Veda had relaxed her hands and arms and moved onto pushing up her cuticles, Sofia started talking. “A friend recommended this place. I can see why.”

Veda looked up and smiled. “A happy customer always wants to share.”

“You did amazing work on her nails.” Sofia decided to go at this from the side so as not to spook Veda. “She had a doe on her thumbnail, with a tree.”

“Bambi,” Veda supplied. “I did that doe. But she isn’t really a customer. She works here.”

That was a stroke of luck. “Really? Do you know when she’s due in next?”

“Why?” Veda stopped working on Sofia’s hands.

“I loaned her my sweatshirt at a party.” Sofia was glad she had this excuse.

“OMG!” Veda covered her mouth with her hand. “You’re the half pint detective!”

Like taking candy from a baby. She knew she should feel maybe feel guilty for using her fame, but she couldn’t really summon it up. “Exactly!”

“Bambi told me all about you! You guys were at this wild party up in the hills at a grape farm.”

Marcel would have turned over in his grave, if he’d been buried already, to hear his vineyard called a grape farm.

“Yup,” Sofia agreed. “A grape farm.”

Veda’s hair barely moved when she bobbed her head. “And she lost her clothes, and you were super nice and gave her your sweatshirt.”

“It was more of a loan,” Sofia said. She liked that sweatshirt.

“Loaned her,” Veda corrected herself. “She’ll be here in about a half hour, and then you can get it back.”

By the time Bambi arrived, Sofia’s nails were painted blue and she had a seagull on her thumb. Considering Fred’s attitude, she probably ought to have had it painted on her middle finger.

“Sofia!” Bambi squealed. “It is you!”

Sofia waved her blue nails at her. “Bambi!”

“I have to go!” Bambi turned and rushed out of the shop.

She’d said it like someone who was excited, not a criminal fleeing from the law. Even if she was, Veda had to have her contact information, including her last name. But maybe Sofia should follow her, so she didn’t have to tell Aidan how she’d let Bambi slip away again.

“Thanks, Veda!” Sofia dug around in her purse for cash.

“Careful!” Veda said. “That’s a work of art on your hand.”

“Sorry.” Sofia had forgotten how much the hand massage was, plus extra for the sea gull. She didn’t have enough cash, so she’d have to use a credit card, but by then Bambi would be long—

The bell by the door tinkled.

“I’m back,” called Bambi. “I have your sweatshirt. I haven’t had time to get it washed, but I was going to—”

“That’s OK.” Sofia took the sweatshirt. She was going to wash it again anyway. Who knew what parts of it had rubbed up against a naked Marcel?

Sofia wondered how much Bambi knew about the events up at the vineyard. She would start out vague. “Have you heard back from Marcel or Rick?”

Bambi laughed. “Of course not. I don’t expect to.”

“Why not?” Sofia worked to sound curious and not suspicious.

“I didn’t give Rick my real last name, because you never know with people you meet online, right?” Bambi studied her hand. “Do you think the doe is scratched?”

Sofia had never met up with anyone from an online source, and she wondered if Aidan was giving out his real last name. She’d have to ask him. “The doe looks great.”

Sofia watched Bambi study her nail for a count of five before she tried again.

“What about Marcel?” Sofia asked.

“I know I won’t see him again.” Bambi shook her head and laughed.

Sofia was sure glad she had training as an actress. Aidan would probably have jumped out of his skin at that statement. “Why not? You guys seemed to hit it off.”

“When you were there.” Bambi squinted her eyes half-closed as if remembering. Sofia had seen that look on her grandma often when she talked about the good old days, but Bambi had been up at Marcel’s good old grape farm yesterday. “In the end he was too pooped to party, if you know what I mean.”

Even if she hadn’t had Brandi translate their conversation, she’d know what that meant. “Well, his own little self went through some trauma.”

Bambi laughed. “I couldn’t believe it when the blond guy yanked on his rope like that.”

Veda looked between them. “What?”

Bambi filled her in, and Sofia waited for her to finish, admiring mini-Fred on her thumb. Veda really was an artist.

“Did you leave him like that?” Sofia asked. “All traumatized.”

“He called me an Uber and walked me out. But before he said good-bye his wife called and they go into an argument about how he had to go and water the horse. In the end, I got into the car and left.” Bambi unsquinted her eyes. “I think the doe needs a little touch up.”

Bambi was probably the last person to see him alive, besides his killer. Sofia wondered if she ought to tell her, but decided not to. She’d let Brendan know and see if Stark wanted to come down and interview her before the police did.

Sofia thanked Bambi and Veda, paid, and went back out to her car. The sun felt good against her face, and she leaned against her car with her eyes closed.

Something didn’t add up. But she couldn’t put her blue-tipped finger on it.

CHAPTER 37

S
ofia’s phone buzzed. Maybe it was Jaxon and she could reschedule their date. It was too late to go riding today, but maybe tomorrow she could take a few hours off at lunch and they could ride up and get that ice cream sundae. Or maybe she was going to never manage to get together with the guy again.

The text was from Aidan:
Meeting at Stark’s.

She texted back:
You need me to bake a file into a cake?

He wasn’t in a good mood, because he responded with:
Just get over here.

Before she could even get her car started, she got another text, this one from Brendan.
Good job on the Pankhurst lead. If you can, please come to Stark’s office for a meeting.

That meant they weren’t together, as Brendan usually left the texting to Aidan.

She texted Brendan a quick
On my way
, and then got on her way.

She got here as quickly as she could, ran the gauntlet at Stark’s building, and ended up in his office.

“Sofia!” Stark rose from his desk to shake her hand. “Great job on the Pankhurst lead! When the time’s right, we’ll bring in the police on that.”

Sofia felt a twinge of guilt. Pankhurst hadn’t ever done her any harm, and here she’d turned him over to the cops. Of course, maybe he wasn’t growing pot in there. Maybe the skylights were for the horses.

Aidan and Brendan both nodded to her. They sat next to each other, but their body language indicated that they didn’t want to be there. They both had their arms folded and leaned away from each other with identical grim expressions. They looked so much alike that she had to hold in a smile.